


From Eden

by harmonic_oblivion



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: I also don't know how Irish speech patterns work, I don't know how romance works, M/M, Song: From Eden (Hozier), Songfic, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 01:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmonic_oblivion/pseuds/harmonic_oblivion
Summary: Crowley takes a break from his job as Nanny of the Antichrist and pays a visit to Dublin for a temptation.





	From Eden

**Phoenix Park, Dublin, Ireland - 2009**

  
A snake slithered through the grass with barely a whisper. It moved in a way that could only be described as petulant, if a snake could be described using such a word. It swerved back and forth at an aggressive pace, but it seemed to be heading nowhere. It had nowhere to go, after all.

If one were to approach this snake, one would notice that the snake was hissing in a rather irritated manner. And if one were to listen hard enough, one would hear that beneath this hissing, the snake was in the middle of a furious tirade.

"…so itsss my fault now that a child actsss like a child, is it? Jussst because it throwsss a tantrum before a car ride doesn't mean I've been 'too much of a bad influence.' Kids are just like that! So what if the kid happens to be the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera? If he throwsss a tantrum, that jussst means we're doing our jobsss!"

The demon Crowley was taking a well deserved break from his current job as the nanny of the Antichrist[1]. Well, rather, he was spending his week off sulking in Ireland because the angel Aziraphale scolded him for nothing as soon as the American ambassador's family had left for the airport. He needed a distraction.

Crowley's rather limited line of sight caught sight of a young man lounging in the grass at the edge of a grove of trees. His hair was tied up in a bun, and he plucked at an acoustic guitar. Crowley smirked as well as he could in the form of a snake. A musician. Perfect for a little temptation to pass the time.

He slithered up to the man. The sounds of the guitar grew louder as he approached. It was quite beautiful, actually. It seemed like the sort of music that even Aziraphale wouldn't have any qualms with, despite it being nearly a hundred years too recent for his taste. Crowley grimaced, an odd expression on a snake. It always came down to Aziraphale, didn't it? He squashed all thoughts of his angel and returned to his task.

He reached out with his mind to find the man's. He probed around a bit. Odd. He couldn't seem to latch on to it.

The man stopped playing and turned around. His eyes landed right on Crowley, who froze. "Hello, there," the man said in a lilting Irish accent. "What can I do for you?" Crowley sputtered. This wasn't exactly what he expected. The man held his gaze for a few moments, then turned back to his guitar. He patted the ground at his side. "Come here," he said. "I'll play something for you."

Warily, Crowley slithered to the man's side. There didn't seem to be any danger. It was just… weird. Crowley wasn't exactly used to a warm welcome while attempting a temptation.

The man waited for Crowley to settle in before beginning to play. First, he sang a song of a church, religion, and hypocrisy, something Crowley could get behind. It was rather beautiful, too, in a tragic way. When he finished, the man said, "I'm still touching up the lyrics. It doesn't feel right yet."

"Well, it sssounded good to me. Jussst a little empty," Crowley said, not realizing until too late that he was, indeed, still a snake, and most snakes could not talk, he himself being the only exception to the rule. To his surprise, the man was unfazed.

"I agree," he said. "If I had the resources, I would add piano and background vocals, or other things along those lines."

Crowley bobbed his head up and down in a serpentine mockery of a nod. "That would round it out nicccely," he said. "Play me sssomething elssse. Sssomething jussst for guitar."

The man nodded and began to play, this time about a newfound love. Though the man had made a rather bizarre choice to compare this new love to a person pulling the speaker out of the ground as a corpse. Not that Crowley judged him for it. He quite liked it, actually. When the man finished, Crowley spoke again. "I like that one. Rather macabre, yet ssstill sssomehow romantic."

The man smiled a bit. "Thank you."

"What about the one you were playing when I arrived? What isss that about?" Crowley asked.

"Oh," the man said, "you mean this?" He plucked a short line of chords in 5/4 time. "Its just an idea right now. I have the chords and the groove, but no words to go with it."

"Shame," Crowley hissed. "Itsss nice."

The man laid his guitar down beside him. "So, if I may ask," he began, "what brings the Serpent of Eden to my corner of Phoenix Park?"

Crowley slithered back a bit at that. "How did you know who I was?" he asked, suddenly defensive.

The man laughed. "I was only joking, but I guess I hit the mark. I just thought, 'Talking snake? Park? Likes the macabre? Must be that snake.'"

Crowley slid back into his spot beside the man and coiled himself up. "Thatsss reasonable, I guesss."

"Are you here to tempt me?"

"Not ssspecifically, no," Crowley said, a little guiltily.

"Then what are you doing?"

Crowley hissed in annoyance. "I'm taking a vacation, sssince apparently I'm doing my job all wrong."

"Your job?" the man said. "You mean tempting?"

Crowley scoffed. "No, I'm the bessst at tempting, thank you very much. I'm jussst a terrible demonic nanny, according to my friend."

"Demonic nanny?"

Crowley explained the birth of the Antichrist, and the subsequent baby swap. He voiced his reluctance to let this world of his end, not when there's so much left to do. He told the man about his deal with Aziraphale, how they intended to prevent the Apocalypse together. He said how Aziraphale thought he was doing to much and making the child too demonic.

"That sounds like a difficult time," the man said when he finished. "So the world is just going to end in ten years?"

"Not if Aziraphale and I can help it," Crowley huffed.

The man seemed deep in thought for a moment, then he spoke. "So this Aziraphale, he's an angel, right?"

"Yeah? What about it?"

"It just seems odd, you know. An angel and a demon as friends?"

"What? Sssomething wrong with that?" Crowley hissed.

"No!" the man said. "I like the idea, actually. It's so… human. Two people who by most standards shouldn't be together but complete each other anyway? It's so romantic in such a human kind of way."

If a snake could blush, Crowley would have been doing so. "I’m a demon," he insisted. “Demonsss don’t do ‘romantic.’”

The man clearly didn’t buy that, but he didn’t push the issue. “Tell me about him. Aziraphale,” he said. “Where did you guys meet?”

Crowley had an inkling that the man had an ulterior motive to asking about the angel, but at that point, he really didn't care. "We met way back in the Garden. Just over sssix thousand yearsss ago now."

"He was in the Garden of Eden, too?"

"He was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, flaming sssword and all. He gave that away, though."

The man looked confused. "He gave away his own flaming sword?"

Crowley hissed a laugh. "To the humansss, just before they were cast out. He was all, 'But it's cold! And she's expecting!'"

"Wouldn't God be upset?"

"She never sssaid anything, so I'd say she wasn't all that concerned."

The man seemed satisfied by that answer. "So did you just go up to him and say hello?"

"Yeah, I just sort of, you know, ssslithered up to him and started talking," said Crowley. "Startled him a bit, but he wasss more than willing to have a conversation. It wasss a bit lonely, back in those days."

"Was it just the two of you and Adam and Eve?" the man asked.

"There were other angels, but they're a bunch of wankersss, the lot of 'em. I'd take Aziraphale over them any day."

"So," the man said, "you and Aziraphale have been friends since the Garden, and now you're trying to avert the apocalypse."

Crowley nodded. "That'sss the short of it. We'd meet up every few years, grab a bite to eat, talk about work or other thingsss. Somewhere along the way we came to an Arrangement to sssave us both some effort. I've gotten him out of some tight spotsss, he's gotten me out of a few in return. And now we're working together to get the whole world out of a tight spot. Just the natural conclusion of everything we've done up to thisss point, really."

"And somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him, too?"

Crowley sputtered and slithered back, hissing something that could have been, "How dare you, I'm a demon!" or "Love is for sssuckers!" but the man's gaze made him go quiet. He curled himself back up and looked away. "Yesss…" he hissed.

When the man spoke, Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I have a feeling it will work out for you."

Crowley looked up. "You really think ssso?"

"Someone so dedicated to preserving the world so he can see it with the one he loves no matter what? I think your angel will see that you are exactly what he's always wanted." The man stood up and picked up his guitar. "Oh yeah," he said, "I never got your name."

Crowley uncoiled and lifted his head up to meet the man's gaze. "Anthony J. Crowley, but you can jussst call me Crowley. And you are?"

"Andrew Hozier-Byrne. Will I see you again, Crowley?"

Crowley's tail came up and gave a sort of shrug. "Perhapsss."

Andrew smiled. "Well, I certainly hope we meet again someday," he said. He turned away, giving Crowley a small wave as he walked off.

Crowley smiled a very snaky smile. "The feeling isss mutual," he hissed to himself. And if the songs Andrew played for him were to miraculously become popular before their next encounter, well, it had nothing to do with the serpent of Phoenix Park.

* * *

**Soho, London, England - 2019**

**One Month After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't**

Crowley burst through the bookshop's front door, ignoring the sign loudly declaring "Closed." He set down the bottle of wine he was holding next to the register and tugged his sunglasses off with his free hand. Tucking the glasses in his jacket pocket, he yelled into the seemingly empty shop, "Angel, I'm back!"

"In here, my dear," Aziraphale called. Crowley smiled and sauntered to the back room, stopping in the doorway to watch the angel putter about, putting some new books away.

Since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale had taken to spending almost all of their time together. They'd spend the morning drinking coffee and cocoa, respectively, in either Aziraphale's bookshop or Crowley's flat. Aziraphale would read a book while Crowley watched TV[2] or babbled on about something in the news. At around noon, they would go out, perhaps to lunch at one of Aziraphale's favorite restaurants or maybe for a picnic in St. James Park. After, they would find something to do in London. There was always something new to be done, even after living there for hundreds of years. Later on, they'd have a nice dinner, usually at the Ritz, though occasionally one or the other would suggest a different restaurant. When finished, they would retire for more drinks, alternating between the flat and the bookshop. Then, they'd sleep, comforted by the knowledge that they were still together, and that everything was ok.

This particular day had deviated from the typical pattern a bit. Aziraphale had wanted to go to a rare book auction, and Crowley wanted to get a haircut and stop at the tailor for his new clothes[3]. They'd decided to split up, agreeing to meet again in the evening at the bookshop. On his way there, Crowley had spotted a winery and decided to get a little gift for his angel.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, radiant smile lighting up his face. "Hello, my dear boy, how was your day?"

"Not bad," said Crowley. He followed Aziraphale from the back room and into the store. "I picked up some wine on my way here. Care for a taste?"

"Oh, that would be lovely!" said Aziraphale. Crowley went to pick up the wine, his own soft smile now fixed on his face. "Crowley, dear, you would not believe what I found today," said Aziraphale from their usual drinking area in the back of the shop.

"What?" Crowley asked as he brought the wine to his friend.

"I heard some wonderful music playing at the bakery I visited on the way here. It’s from a young, modern artist from Ireland--"

"Bebop?"

Aziraphale glared at Crowley and swatted his shoulder. "No, this is good music." Crowley stifled a chuckle as Aziraphale pulled a vinyl from the stack of music next to his gramophone. "I just had to buy it so I could show you. Have you ever heard of this Hozier?"

Crowley saw the cover of the album and smiled. "Yes. I met him maybe ten years ago. Before he was popular." He'd heard of the young man Andrew's success over the years, though he hadn't gotten around to listening to his songs yet. There was one he'd heard a few times over the radio when the Bentley cooperated, the church one from their time in the park, but other than that he'd heard very little.

"Well his music is wonderful. Would you care to listen?"

So the pair opened the bottle of wine. Then another. And another. And all the while, they chatted and listened to the music. When they were about halfway through their third bottle of wine and both thoroughly drunk, a vaguely familiar song came on.

"Oh! I know this one!" Crowley shouted. "It was unfinsin-- unfinsa-- unfisn--"

"Unfinished?"

"Yes! Just guitar, back then."

Crowley sat back and listened to what Andrew had eventually come up with.

_Babe_

_There's something tragic about you_

_Something so magic about you_

_Don't you agree?_

Something in the back of Crowley's mind stirred. It seemed almost… familiar. But he couldn't place why.

_Babe_

_There's something lonesome about you_

_Something so wholesome about you_

_Get closer to me_

Crowley pushed the feeling aside and watched Aziraphale bounce in his chair to the beat. He smiled at his adorable angel, letting warmth suffuse through his chest that he knew he couldn't blame on the wine.

When the chorus began, Crowley realized what he'd missed.

_Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago_

_Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword_

_Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know_

_I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door_

"That bassstard!" Crowley yelled, jumping unsteadily to his feet. "I told him all that in confisien-- confidsi-- trussst, and he put it in one of his sssongs!"

"What are you talking about, dear?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley froze. "It'sss nothing," he said, praying to someone that the angel couldn't see his blush. He sat down and put his head in his hands. There was no way he was going to let some song ruin everything.

He felt more than saw Aziraphale slide on to the couch next to him. "This Hozier," he began, "wrote a love song about something you told him?" There was something Crowley couldn't place in his voice. Something… upset, almost. "What did you tell him about?" Crowley mumbled a denial into his hands, but Aziraphale wasn't having it. He gently took Crowley's wrists and dragged them away from his face. "Look at me, Crowley," he said. Crowley reluctantly met his eyes. "What did you talk to him about?"

Crowley looked away. "You," he muttered.

A suffocating silence surrounded the two of them, yet the music played on. "Me?" Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley wrenched himself away and stood up. "Yes, you," he said. "I told him all about you and me, and our history, and what you meant to me." Crowley swayed on his feet, and Aziraphale stood to steady him.

"And he wrote a love song about it?"

"Yesss, he did." Crowley tried to pull away, but Aziraphale's grip held him fast. He opted for looking at his feet instead.

Aziraphale reached up and cupped Crowley's cheek in his hand. He guided Crowley's head so their eyes met again. The watery image of Aziraphale softened. "Oh, Crowley," he said.

Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn't much, just a soft, chaste kiss. There wasn't passion so much as there was warmth. So much warmth. It was like all the love in the world poured into Crowley's body just from that one point of contact.

It ended much too soon. Aziraphale straightened and met Crowley's eyes once again, the tender smile that Crowley loved so much adorning his features. "I love you, too, dear," Aziraphale said.

Crowley dove forward and kissed him back. As Aziraphale melted into him, a single coherent thought surfaced through the haze of contentment before drifting away. _That bastard_, he thought. _I guess I'm going to have to send a thank you note_[4].

* * *

**Footnotes**

  1. At this point, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had any inkling that this was the wrong child. They still had another ten years before they figured that out. [Back]
  2. Crowley had convinced Aziraphale to let him bring a TV into the bookshop. Aziraphale agreed only under the condition that it be kept in the corner of the back room, where it wouldn't get in the way. [Back]
  3. Crowley didn't actually need to get haircuts, nor did he need to get his clothes tailored. Normally, he would just miracle both, but on occasion he would “stir jealousy among the populace” by “flaunting his style.” In reality, he just enjoyed someone physically doing his hair and his clothes. Not that he’d ever admit that. [Back]
  4. He did get around to sending that thank you note. It read: _You were right. It did work out. Thanks for that. Yours, A.J. Crowley. P.S. Those are some great songs you've got. Even Aziraphale likes them. _A few days later, they got a visit at the bookshop from the man himself. How he figured out where they were, Crowley had no idea, and frankly, he didn't care to know. [Back]

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again!
> 
> This has been rattling around in my brain for a while, and at long last I've finally finished it. Apologies for my sad attempt at romance. Romance is always cute until I write it, at which point it becomes tragically cringy. I'll just chalk that down to my lack of practical experience in that area.
> 
> Two things: 1) I am fully aware that if the apocalypse had taken place in 2019 like I set it here, Crowley and Aziraphale wouldn't have started working for the Dowlings until about 2013. However, time is fake, and this setup worked better so that's how it's going to be. And 2) I didn't do nearly enough research on Hozier as a person for this. I probably should have watched more interviews at least to pick up how he talks, but I didn't. Whoops. I also have no idea when he technically wrote From Eden or any of the other songs mentioned. I just figured that he was at university during thing year in Dublin so that's where and when this is going to be set.
> 
> I've never been to Phoenix Park, and now I'd really like to go. One day, perhaps.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
